Inside North Korea's Subway System

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Inside North Korea's Subway System

The entrance to the Puhoong station, under the watchful eye of a guard. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

Passengers line up to purchase tickets. Photo: Aaron Mertz

A light-up map of the 16 stations on two lines. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

At a depth of over 100 meters, the Pyongyang Metro is likely one of the world's deepest. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

The subterranean stations are dimly lit, with every other bulb illuminated, likely to save limited power supplies. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

The platform of Puhoong Station, one of the showpiece stations build in the 1980s. Photo: Aaron Mertz

A train pulls into the station. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

A group of riders mingles on the platform as an attendant looks on. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

Passengers await departure. The graffiti visible on the window is a remnant from the car's former life in East Germany. Photo: Aaron Mertz

Government produced newspapers are displayed at the stations. Photo: Aaron Mertz

Passengers disembark. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

Under the watchful eyes of North Korea's past leaders. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

A statue adorns the Kaeson station. Photo: Aaron Mertz

A metro attendant awaits the next train, against the backdrop of a mosaic. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

Newspaper readers at Kaeson station. Photo: Jeffrey Marlow

Hundreds of feet beneath the world's most insular capital city lies a network of cavernous rooms, adorned with stone pillars and grandiose mosaics. This is the Pyongyang Metro, one of North Korea's most ambitious public works projects.

For public transportation infrastructure aficionados – and you know who you are – the Pyongyang Metro is an eagerly sought grail; for the rest of us, it’s a peek into the daily commute of the North Korea's privileged capital-dwellers. Commuting is the dominant expression of public life in North Korea, a country with few restaurants and stores, and even fewer civic gatherings. On the streets, cyclists and pedestrians far outnumber cars, as people move in stark silence between their residence and place of work.

The eerie silence and sense of purposeful movement extend underground. On a recent Thursday morning, hundreds of passengers (Lunch breakers? Unemployed? Conscripts? All jobs should begin by 10 AM) rode the #1 Chollima line through central Pyongyang.

The underground stations are ornate but dimly lit: patrons squint to read posted newspapers while patriotic music echoes faintly across the stone floor. Most of the 16 public stations (there are rumors of secret, government-use-only networks) were built in the 1970s, but the most grandiose halls – Puhoong and Yonggwang – were constructed in 1987. Mosaics and metallic reliefs extolling the virtues of North Korean workers and landscapes line the walls.

The subway cars were acquired from Germany, and despite a green and red makeover, the remnant graffiti scratched into windows and paneling belies their past lives. And as with every other public and private space throughout the country, portraits of past leaders Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il look down from the ends of each car, smiling and ever-present.